


Heather Gray

by remembertowrite



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Morning After, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6502978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembertowrite/pseuds/remembertowrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The harsh creak of the hardwood is what first rouses her. </p><p>Based off the prompt “How I said 'I love you': Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heather Gray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [E_Salvatore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore/gifts).



> Written for [eleanor-3's Stragan prompt-a-thon](http://eleanor-3.tumblr.com/post/141128854422/stragan-prompts-the-way-you-said-i-love-you), and I'm just now getting around to posting the response to [the prompt assigned to me.](http://eleanor-3.tumblr.com/post/141302315042/stragan-prompts-the-way-you-said-i-love-you) For some reason I was really struggling with this one, so I decided to just go for a drabble.

The harsh creak of the hardwood is what first rouses her. The faint rustle of wool against cotton screams in heartbreak even before her conscious mind registers the symptoms.

She cracks her eyelids to his blurred body in heather gray, hands smoothing down the jacket lapels in sync with an exhale that promises disaster. She wipes the sleep out of her eyes to better focus, and draws the sheets around her chilled skin.

He almost looks like himself again, with the trimmed beard and wool sport coat, but he’s not fooling her. His red eyes can’t hide behind transparent lenses.

She edges to the side of her bed where she can reach him, but it’s like trying to touch the stars: when she grasps the edge of his sleeve, it’s as if he dissolves into gas and burns her alive.

“Not again,” she begs. She heaves the words out of her mouth like they’re last night’s dinner.

The wool scratches her thumb as he turns back to regard her. Does he see her? Does he see anything anymore?

He ghosts his index finger along the fate line of her palm in silent prognostication and shakes his head.

“I love you,” she whimpers.

“I’m sorry,” he answers, blue eyes icy in truth, before he leaves.

Somehow it aches even more because she knows it’s the best he can do.


End file.
